Then and Now: A Thanksgiving Story
by Cynlee
Summary: Sappy oneshot about being thankful. Mikeycentric.


_Hi, had to get all holiday on you all-- this is sappy pure and simple. You have been warned. TMNT are owed by Mirage. I am thankful that they own them, though I'd be more thankful if I owned them!_

**Then and Now-- A Thanksgiving Story**

Then:

Mikey sat back and looked at his turkey.

Somehow, it just did not look like the example in the crafts book that Splinter had found on one of his many scavenging expeditions behind the local schools. The picture showed the "child" tracing his hand onto the paper-- then decorating the tracing by turning the thumb into the turkey's head, and the fingers into many colorful feathers. Mikey looked from the neatly traced example of the human hand, then back to his own, two fingers and thumb outline. He looked up at Splinter, who was sitting on the couch, reading.

"I followed the directions, father, but my turkey just don't look like the one in the book," he said, face wrinkled up in critical appraisal. "He looks like he's missing feathers."

Splinter put down the book and smiled, studying his son's attempt to create the hand-turkey.

"Well, my son, I am afraid that it has to do with your being different from the surface-dwellers. I have an idea." Sitting down on the floor with Michelangelo, he took his son's hand, and laid it over the drawing again, only slightly turned so that his two fingers were positioned between the original outline. Carefully, he traced around his fingers, then removed the hand from the drawing. Now it looked more like the one in the book-- a head with four feathers.

Michelangelo grinned.

"That's better!" he beamed, grabbing crayons, and beginning the task of coloring the now proud-looking bird. He glanced up at Splinter. "Wanna help me decorate it?"

Splinter shook his head, smiling.

"No, I will just sit here and watch you do it," he said, placing a hand on his son's head. "It is just another thing that I am thankful for."

Michelangelo, in the middle of making the turkey brown, stopped and looked up.

"Is that why we're gonna have Thanksgiving? How comes we didn't have it before?"

Splinter smiled again.

"Well, in a way, we have had it before. This year we are going to celebrate it the way that others do."

Mikey wrinkled his brow, trying to remember last year.

"How have we had it before?"

"Well, I have always made something special on certain days when I am feeling very thankful," Splinter tried to explain. "You all may not realize it, but we have been very fortunate. Many people have no home to live in. We live in the sewers, but we have a safe place to stay. Many people have no food to eat. We have had to eat food that was thrown away or old, but we have also had a fairly steady supply-- you have not had to be hungry for days. And more and more I have been able to get better food for you all."

Mikey nodded at this. If there was one thing he understood it was food, the lack thereof, and the many scavenged meals, brought home from the dumpsters of grocery stores or restaurants. Splinter did his best to bring them safe, edible food.

And he had been bringing home more "new" stuff! Sometimes Mikey and the others hoped that Father would be able to quit scavenging the dumpsters, but they knew, young as they were, that it was needed. They had to save whatever they could against the hard times.

He looked back at the craft book that Splinter had rescued from a dumpster. So much good stuff ended up in the trash! Splinter noticed him looking at this, and nodded.

"Not everyone can read or write or draw," he continued. "I am thankful that I have learned how, and that you are all learning how. Knowledge is very important. And, even though you have all been sick, you have thankfully recovered, and grow stronger with each passing year. I am thankful every year when we celebrate your birthdays, and your achievements."

Then he smiled again, looking at this small, creative son, and his eyes glistened.

"I am thankful for the day that I found you all as baby turtles; for the day when I became your father."

Mikey grew serious as he listened to Splinter's story. He looked again at the turkey he was making. It had come out of a book. Mikey loved books! He loved to read. To think that if he had not been found as a baby turtle by Splinter-- he might NEVER have learned how to read! He still wasn't sure about that whole baby thing, or being lost or why they had been lost, but it didn't matter. All he knew was that Splinter was his father, and that was the best thing in the world he could think of.

"Hmmm... you know what? I'm thankful, too! I'm thankful you're my father. And I'm thankful that you helped me make this turkey." And he went back to coloring, vigorously. Then he took the scissors that Splinter had allowed him to use and began to cut it out. Michelangelo was going to make one turkey for each of them, to decorate the table.

Splinter smiled again-- it was another thing he was thankful for; the joy that this son brought to him. He watched in silence as Michelangelo, without any more help, carefully made four more turkeys.

"But why is this one gonna be so different?" Mikey insisted after a few minutes, as if the conversation had never halted. Mikey was like that-- he was known to fall asleep during a talk or argument or some such story, only to awaken an hour or two later and take up the discussion as if there had been no nap in-between.

Splinter thought carefully about this question. He would need a good answer to satisfy this one.

"You remember how sick we all were just a few weeks ago?" And Michelangelo nodded.

"Do I! I thought that you was never gonna get well," he said, and then ah "Oh" lit up his face. "I sure am thankful that you got well! Is that what you meant about us? About being thankful when we get well?"

"Yes. And only you and Donatello got sick. I was thankful that Raphael and Leonardo were spared this illness for now."

Mikey frowned at the memory. HE was not thankful that he and Don had been too ill to eat. Mikey missed eating the most of that whole flu.

"I was also thankful that, though I was so sick, my sons were able to care for me and for each other," he went on. That had been the hardest thing for him, knowing that his sons were forced into the role of caregiver-- and all of them so young themselves. He still had dreams of that time-- terrible dreams and nightmares about the evil outcomes that could have happened.

"Also, this year we have had much luck in getting in the winter supplies," Splinter went on. "We have not always been so well-provisioned. It has been a good few months of gathering food and other necessities."

He smiled at a special thankfulness. The night before, the owners of the small grocery that he "visited" on those rare occasions when he had found enough money to purchase fresh foods had left out a present for him and his family, as a token of their own thankfulness-- a Thanksgiving present. They had provided him with a real turkey!

And Mrs. Sakai had prepared many items that could be easily reheated or cooked by "Dear Mr. Hamato". In the cupboard was a large pumpkin pie and a large pecan pie, well-protected from any unwanted snackers, be they the stray insect or a curious turtle. In the refrigerator were several well-sealed bowls of prepared foods waiting to be reheated, while in the oven the large turkey was slowly roasting, sending out such smells that Michelangelo's stomach kept leading him into the kitchen to check on its progress every five minutes.

Mikey had gawked at it that morning when he'd gone into the fridge for the milk. It looked almost as big as him! He knew it wasn't, but that didn't matter. It was a turkey! They was finally gonna have turkey!

Splinter, in order to keep his son from constantly opening the oven to check on the roasting bird, finally gave him the craft book and suggested that he make decorations for the table. They would celebrate this holiday like they had seen on TV.

Mikey carefully cut out the last of the turkeys. They were various colors and had several different facial expressions.

"This one is Raph," he indicated, and indeed, that turkey had a kind of "oh, brother!" look about it; a kind of upset frown, as if it were getting ready to yell at a much cuter younger brother. "This one is Leo. I made him look all serious and bossy."

Splinter had to admit, the expression on this one was as he described his brother; thoughtful and serious, eyes narrow, mouth not frowning but not smiling either.

"This one is Don," Mikey continued. "His head is bigger 'cause the pencil slipped around my thumb, but it helps show Don's big brain. And this is me," and he proudly held up the happiest looking turkey in the world-- and also the most colorful, more like a peacock than a turkey.

Then Mikey held up the last turkey. This was the first one, the one Splinter had helped him make.

"This one is you. I made all the feathers brown, and I gave him a walking stick. See? He looks very wise and like a father, don't you think? I think he looks the wisest of all the turkeys."

And he displayed this all brown turkey. Its smile was large, its eyes were large with shaggy eyebrows, and with a white crayon Michelangelo had drawn a cane.

"I had to make the walking stick white, 'cause brown won't show up on brown," he grinned. Then Mikey looked up at his father, and noticed that he had tears in his eyes as he was looking at all Michelangelo had shown him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, worried. Maybe he don't like his turkey?

"Nothing is wrong," Splinter replied. "I am just being thankful." And he hugged his son and got up to work some more on their special dinner.

Mikey shook his head, failing to understand. He had seen in shows on TV that sometimes people cry when they're happy. He had NEVER cried when he was happy. It made no sense! Must be some sorta grownup thing. He went back to his decorations.

At dinner, the turtles' eyes were huge as Splinter set the well-roasted, shiny golden brown turkey on the table. Surrounded by the heated potatoes, steaming gravy, fragrant vegetables, and the handmade decorations of Michelangelo, it looked like all the pictures they had all seen in books; like countless scenes in TV shows and movies; like those commercials!

Splinter sat down for a minute, knowing that four hungry children were waiting with growling tummies to dig in. But he felt that they needed to do something first-- something to truly make this a Thanksgiving.

"My sons, I would like each one of you to say one thing that you are thankful for before we begin this feast," he told them. "Leonardo, please begin."

Leo looked very thoughtful. He had never really thought of it before, but he did have a lot of things he was thankful for. How could he just choose one? Staring at his glass of milk, he suddenly smiled, as if he'd remembered a funny joke or story.

"Well, I'm thankful that it was **you** in that alley the night Raph and I tried to go buy milk, and not a stranger," he finally said, laughing at the memory. Everyone laughed as well.

"Now you, Raphael," Splinter smiled, and this turtle's face frowned up in thought.

"Hmm... I guess I'm thankful that we got to play today instead of doing lessons," Raph said, and everyone except Leo laughed. Leo enjoyed his training and lessons. He would do it every day if Splinter allowed it.

Now it was Donatello's turn.

"I'm thankful that I got to go to the junk yard with you the other day," he said immediately. "I found so much cool stuff! I'm gonna build the greatest invention ever invented with it!"

"Big surprise," Raph snickered. "You say that all the time. I'd be thankful if you'd say somethin' else, like you're gonna make us a video game system like on the commercial."

"Who knows?" Don said mysteriously, shrugging.

Now Splinter turned to Michelangelo.

Everyone waited, each guessing in his mind what Mikey was gonna be thankful for.

"I bet he's thankful that we're gonna eat," Raph said, and the three brothers laughed.

"Naw, he's gonna be thankful that he sleeps above Leo and not you," Don teased both Raph and Mikey at once. More laughter.

"Are you kiddin'? **I'm** the one thankful for that," Raph responded, remembering many times when his youngest brother had slept so soundly that he would wet the bed... and it would sometimes seep through!

"Nope, he's gonna be thankful that he doesn't have to wash the dishes today," Leo sighed-- it was his and Don's turn to do them, and there were going to be a lot it seemed.

Mikey was the only one who had not laughed. He cleared his throat, suddenly shy.

"Well, my son?" Splinter encouraged him with a smile.

"Well, I'm thankful that **you **found us."

Silence reigned for a full minute. The brothers couldn't tease about that. Mikey waited, but no one had a reason to tease him on that one; indeed each now had wished that he had been the one to say it. Trust the youngest to say what the oldest should have, Leo thought, sighing.

Then they looked in shock at Splinter, who appeared to be crying. Tears at least were in his eyes, and he had to sip some tea before he could speak to his sons. His throat was choked up with emotion at the unexpected statement. He, too, had imagined that Michelangelo would say something different.

Finally he was able to smile and speak in a quiet yet firm voice.

"And I am thankful that you are all my sons," he managed. It didn't surprise them; he was always saying that. But for some reason, this time it felt-- different-- especially to Michelangelo.

For some reason, Mikey felt something strange when his father said that; something he didn't remember feeling before.

Then Splinter stood up again and began to carve the turkey, and all thoughts of strange feelings and such were gone with the first slice into the juicy, fragrant bird.

Never had they eaten so much! Never had they been allowed to eat so much in one meal! They enjoyed their first taste of turkey-- and their second, and third, and (for Mikey) fourth as well. They had never tasted food prepared specially for them by anyone other than Splinter-- they didn't count stuff already cooked in restaurants-- and they thought that this Mrs. Sakai must be the bestest cook in the whole world! Michelangelo, never a big fan of cooked carrots, nevertheless had big seconds of her special carrot dish, to the delight of his father and the amusement of his brothers.

And the PIES! Was there anything that had ever tasted better than those pies? It was like nothing they were used to! Delicious! Spices and sweetness and stickiness and flaky crust and more, please, more!

They could barely rise from their chairs. Leo and Don in particular looked regretful, knowing that dishes were next-- and then Splinter surprised them.

"There is no need to start the dishes just yet, my sons. Go in the living room and watch television while I put the food away."

"Wow! No wonder it's called 'Thanksgiving'," Leo grinned, as the four of them headed out of the kitchen, feeling fuller than they'd ever felt in their lives.

"Man, my shell feels tight!" he faintly heard Raphael comment as they settled on the couch.

"That is impossible," Don sort of argued-- then Splinter heard him give a small groan as he tried to settle himself on the couch. "But it feels like it," he had to admit.

Splinter smiled and began the task of wrapping the leftovers up and putting things away. There would be no need to cook dinner tonight, and the turkey would make excellent soup, broth, and quick lunches for the next few days. He must find a way to thank these people for their generosity.

He was in the middle of stacking the dishes when he noticed Michelangelo standing beside him.

"Yes, my son?" he asked. "Is something wrong? Do you feel ill?" For though he had tried to curb this one in his eating, it had been to no avail, and he was sure that Michelangelo would be feeling ill in a short time.

"Nope. I just... you know when you tried once to tell me why people cry when they're happy? And I didn't understand it. And two times today you cried-- and I guess you was happy, right?"

"Yes, that is why. What you said touched me deeply," he replied, looking down at his youngest. "Why?"

"Well... when you said what you always say... about being glad that we're your sons," Mikey slowly dragged out. "Well, my eyes started hurtin', and my throat got kinda choked, and I couldn't swallow for a minute, and then I could feel like I was gonna cry... Does that mean I was happy?"

"What do you think?"

Mikey thought.

"Well... it didn't feel like I was crying 'cause I was in trouble, or mad at Raph, or somethin' like that," he said. "So, I **guess** it was 'cause I was happy. But it felt weird."

"It means that you were happy," he confirmed as he knelt down, eye level with Michelangelo. "It is a special kind of happy, one that does not feel like the happy you feel when you get a present, or when you win a fight with your brothers. It is a special kind of family happy. I cannot explain it any better than that."

Mikey made a thoughtful face. Then he grinned, threw his arms around his father's neck, and hugged him.

"Okay, I understand," he said, and then he let go and scooted out of the kitchen, joining his brothers in front of the TV.

_It's being happy 'cause I gots a father and brothers_, he thought, as Leo and Raph fought over what show they were going to watch. _It's being happy being a family. I get it now._

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now:

April and Casey come into the Lair with pies and other prepared dishes. Don and Raph are putting the finishing touches on the table, and Leonardo is helping Splinter take the large turkey from the oven.

"Where is Mikey?" Raph grouses, stomach growling almost as bad as its owner. "I wanna eat! The game'll be on soon!"

"I'm tempted to eat without him," Leo complains. He is still moody and short-tempered, though he has been trying to not be as bad as he had been before his stupidity resulted in Don's being badly injured. "He's been goofing around all day while we get things ready."

"Aww, come on, guys," Don chides them. "When he helps out, you complain that he's underfoot and causing trouble, and when he doesn't help, you complain about that. Me, I'm thankful that he hasn't been helping out this time. Remember last Thanksgiving? He tried to be creative with the stuffing?"

"Please," Raph shuddered, closing his eyes and looking sick. "I try hard to forget such things!"

"Enough, my sons," Splinter calmly says, and the food is set upon the table. "Michelangelo! It is time to eat!"

Mikey appears from his room, hands full of something.

Everyone stares when he places at each plate a handmade turkey-- done the way he'd done them that first Thanksgiving.

"Jeeze, Mikey, you was wasting time on this?" Raph snorted-- and then realized that something was written on the back. Curious, he read it-- and suddenly looked disarmed, as if he'd been stunned by his brother during a training match. He blinked rapidly, cleared his throat as if something was stuck in it, and sat down without another word.

Intrigued, the others each picked up the turkey that was at his or her plate. For a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of throats being roughly cleared, a few "coughs" and the sight of eyes being secretly wiped.

The only two who are open with their emotions were April ("Oh, Mikey!" followed by a neck-choking hug) and Splinter, who smiles with tears in his eyes in a way that sharply brings to Mikey's mind that first real Thanksgiving. He doesn't remember everything about being six, but that memory is forever etched in his mind.

Splinter looks up at Michelangelo, also remembering that first Thanksgiving.

"I am thankful that you are my sons," he says, as if echoing that time.

The others never share what Michelangelo has written to each of them, but Splinter's is displayed for all to see:

"I'm thankful that **you** found us."


End file.
